


Parallels

by Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Asexual Character, Bisexual Character, Demiromantic Character, Gay Character, Multi, Pansexual Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r/pseuds/Ch3sh1r3Hatt3r
Summary: Acier, Lucha, Thárros and Cliste were all pretty normal kids. They went to college, drank too much coffee, had lives, had jobs. But Lucha and Cliste have haunting pasts, and Acier’s father has him in a stranglehold. Thárros himself ducks and dodges the consequences of actions that he deeply regrets. But the one thing that these four have in common (apart from being super nerds) is that they all had each other, and fit together like puzzle pieces. They were family.





	Parallels

**ACIER**

        The streets of Central City are soaked, and the rain doesn’t show any sign of stopping. Still, some of the inhabitants of the city choose to brave the rain-slick streets, armed with umbrellas and raincoats. Gumboots, sneakers, business shoes and work boots alike either splash through, skirt around or leap over puddles, and still the sky continues to weep. However, one boy among the crowd stands out, a slow, calming presence amid those eager to escape the downpour.

       His head is bent, bare of any covering, water dripping down unnaturally deep red strands clinging to an equally soaked forehead. He holds no umbrella, just a ratty green backpack slung over one shoulder. The boy is only wearing a simple jacket, yet his steps are slow and unhurried. Acier Cadere, age eighteen and aspiring historian, makes his way to his destination in no hurry, hands hidden in his deep pockets and a defeated aura hovering over him like a shroud.

       The young boy breaks away from the afternoon rush and turns left towards a dingy old apartment building that seems to be tilting dangerously to the left. Acier’s long, lanky legs eat up the distance in a few strides, coming to a stop outside the entrance. The boy enters with the sort of familiarity that one can only possess after having lived there all one’s life.

       He hadn’t.

       The entrance is about as grand as the exterior, reeking of a strange mixture of rotten wood, cinnamon and honey. The shitty, flickering light bulbs lend an ominous feel to the already- tense atmosphere that seems to be trying to smother Acier. The dark redhead’s shoulders slump as he begins to climb a nearby staircase, such step creaking under his light weight. He exits at the next landing, stopping in front of the first door to the right.

       A dull, battered and dented brass number six hangs at about the same height as Acier’s mouth. Slowly, he raises a single, trembling hand. After a brief moment of hesitation, the redhead lets it fall, making contact with the battered, grooved surface of the door itself. As quiet as the sound was, it generates an instant reaction from the other side of the door, beginning with muffled barking, followed by yelling, crashing and running.

       Finally, the door is thrown open to reveal a frazzled-looking brunette boy with a small, grumpy-looking blonde girl on his hip.

       “Oh, praise Allah,” Thárros Krijger, age nineteen and promising med student, says. “I thought you’d gone and dug yourself that grave you were talking about.” Acier’s mouth twitches up into a half-hearted smile.

       “Nah,” he replies, shivering ever-so-slightly. “But dad seems pretty set on it.” Thárros’ faint grin disappears, and he sets the little blonde down gently.

       “Why don’t you go ready for bed, Katie-Kat?” he says playfully. “Ace and I’ll be along in a second.” The blonde runs off on tiny feet, giggling. Thárros turns to Acier, eyes full of pain and sadness. “Ace,” he says quietly, stepping forwards to place both hands on the slightly-shorter boy’s shoulders. “You know that you don’t have to leave after we come back from Starling.” The dark redhead can only shrug, gray eyes avoiding his friend’s green.

       “I don’t think we could find enough space for me to stand, let alone sleep here permanently,” he replies quietly. The older snorts.

       “Tell that to the six kids, two parents, a dog and a cat crammed into an apartment meant for two,” he replies, stepping away. “In the meantime, I don’t think Lora is back until midnight, so you should be able to crash on the couch until then, which is perfect because we’re leaving at one.” Acier raises an eyebrow.

       “In the morning?” he asks incredulously, following the older boy in and setting his backpack by the door.

       “Yup,” Thárros replies, popping the p. “Wait here, I’ll wrestle some blankets from Chris for you and we can go put Kate to sleep.” Acier grins, standing in the middle of the cramped sitting room. It’s not awkward, not in the least. He’s done this too many times to count, hid from his father where he knows that he can’t reach.

       Thárros re-enters the room, hair a rumpled mess and a blanket clutched in his hands. A pang goes through the younger of the two. Acier knows that that blanket is the best that the Krijger’s have to offer, and it kills him to not say a word about it, pretend that he doesn’t know what they’re sacrificing. But he wants Thárros to be happy, and that means that he can’t try to refuse it.

       “Lets tuck Katie-Kat in, hmm?” Thárros says, dumping the blanket on the saggy (but comfy) couch. The brunette doesn’t wait for an answer before turning, heading out of the room. Acier sighs, but follows his friend, leaning against the doorway of a room crammed full with two beds, a mattress on the floor and a dresser. Five still forms slumber on as Thárros creeps over them, but one is sitting up, watching her brother draw closer.

       “Hey, Kitkat,” he whispers, kneeling beside Kate’s side of the bed. “Why aren’t you snuggled in?” “I wanted you to do it,” she whispers back. Thárros grins, tugging the covers up as Kate lies down. Acier smiles as he watches the older boy lean down to kiss Kate on the head. “Sleep tight, Kate,” he mutters, backing away carefully. Acier backs up as Thárros exits the room, closing the door behind him. “Bed, I think,” he says quietly. Acier nods, yawning as he extends both arms in a languid stretch. Thárros doesn’t see him wince in pain as the bruises on his back and arms protest.

       “Yeah,” the redhead agrees. “Bed.” 

<><><><><>

** THÁRROS **

       Thárros shakes Acier awake with a massive smile.

       “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he hisses. “Lora wants the couch now that it’s time for us to leave.” Acier blinks, sleep-heavy eyes cloudy. Thárros tries not to melt st the sight, because fuck that’s cute. _Not now,_ he scolds himself. _Crush on one of your best friends later._ The brunette tugs insistently on his friend’s arm until Acier sits up. Thárros shoves his shoes towards him, moving away to grab two duffel bags on the ground amid a clutter of toys.

       “Come on,” he says impatiently as Acier stands up slowly. “Hurry before dad changes his mind and decides that I can’t drive the Bug over.” Acier rolls his eyes, but picks up his pace as he hurries after his friend, opening the apartment door for him after bending down to retrieve his backpack. The Bug was a beat up old Beetle that Thárros absolutely adored. His dad had promised it to him when he turned twenty, which meant that he was getting it next year.

       But until then, the Bug was one of the family cars and that meant that anybody in the family who could drive had free reign over it. It’s stopped raining, and the bright orange paint job gleams dully in the weak moonlight as Thárros opens the driver’s side door, shoving the duffel bags down in the foot space of the passenger seat.

       Acier wrinkles his nose but climbs in, bringing his long legs up so that his knees press against his chin in order to fit in. Thárros smiles excitedly, starting the engine.

       “You can sleep on the way if you want,” he offers the younger boy. In the light of the headlights, the brunette can just make out the big black circles underneath the other boy’s eyes. Acier smiles gratefully, tipping his head back to rest against the headrest. Dark red hair is spread out all over his forehead, and his clothes are still damp from the rain. Thárros tears his gaze away before the staring becomes too awkward, shifting into reverse and backing out of the lot.

       “We’re off to see the Wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz,” he sings under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Acier’s mouth tilt up into a small smile. 

<><><><><>

** LUCHA **

       “It’s three in the morning,” Lucha says disapprovingly, eyeing her roommate. Cliste looks up, wavy black strands falling out of her messy bun.

       “So?” the music major asks, shrugging. Lucha groans in frustration, throwing her hands into the air. Her metal one glints in the shitty kitchen lights.

       “So, you shouldn’t be doing homework that isn’t due for at least another two weeks right now!” the blonde says. Cliste rolls her eyes.

       “Just because I, unlike you, appreciate the need to work ahead and prepare, doesn’t mean that you have the right to preach about being productive,” she says firmly. Lucha growls lowly, eyes darting off to the side. Fuck, she couldn’t hold up against that look. Cliste's eyes are so focused, and her shoulders are set and holy shit she'shavingapansexualpanicattack.

       “Well, you’re making my brain hurt just looking at you,” Lucha says petulantly.

       “Then don’t,” Cliste replies with a shrug, erasing a note and replacing it with another. “Do you think I should do this piece in D minor or major?” Lucha gapes at her roommate.

       “You are aware that I’m not the music major, right?” she asks testily.

       “Yes, it was a rhetorical question,” Cliste replies dismissively. “Go watch TV if you’re so upset about my determination to excel.”

       “Clyde broke it, remember,” Lucha reminds the ravenette. “No TV.”

       “Well then, why don’t you—“

       The sound of a doorbell being rung makes both girls look up. Cliste glances at Lucha, smile curling the corners of her mouth.

       “Race you,” she says, setting down her pencil.

       “Go!” Lucha yells, breaking into a sprint. Cliste wins, despite Lucha’s best efforts, sliding across the linoleum in her soft socks. Wrenching the door open, Cliste beams excitedly.

       “Thárros!” Lucha exclaims, maneuvering around Cliste in order to bring the other in for a hug. She can see Cliste doing the same with Acier out of the corner of her eye. “How’s Ace?” Lucha whispers into Thárros’ ear.

       “Could be better,” the other breathes back as they separate. “It’s nice to see you guys!” he says at normal volume. “Hope you have room for us.” Lucha rolls her eyes.

       “Please. We both know you two will sleep anywhere.” Acier smiles, the gesture looking thin and stretched on his pale, wan face.

       “Guilty,” he says. Lucha resolves to stuff her friend with as much food as she can over the two weeks that they’re in Starling City.

       “How’s Central City?” Cliste asks, leading everyone towards the single sagging couch in front of a cracked TV. Lucha claims her place on the arm of the couch, and Thárros sprawls all over it. Acier is more reserved sitting cross-legged on the side farthest from Lucha with Thárros' feet in his lap. Cliste doesn’t even attempt to squeeze on, instead choosing to snag a fuzzy blanket and huddle on the floor.

       “Pretty normal,” Acier says with a shrug. They all do their best to ignore the elephant in the room, and Lucha makes sure that her gaze doesn’t stray to the purple bruise around Acier’s wrist in the shape of his father’s hand.

       “How’s it here for you?” Thárros cuts in, deflecting. Because this is a dance that they're all used to, one that they all know about but never acknowledge. Lucha shrugs, stretching.

       “All you need to know is that Clyde is a dickwad and the TV was not built to withstand softballs,” Lucha says with a grimace.

       "Fantastic," Acier says dryly. He turns to Thárros, a small smirk appearing on his face. "Doesn't that remind you of that time when you brought spears into your apartment?" The brunette groans, running a hand over his face. 

       "Like it was yesterday." Cliste raises an eyebrow. "Garrett, Chris, Vivian and I all thought that it would be a great idea to roleplay inside," Thárros explains bashfully. Cliste snaps her fingers, eyes widening in realization. 

       "That was when you had to replace the windows and the TV, right!" she asks excitedly. "I was meaning to ask you about that, but I never got around to it!" Lucha smiles at the ravenette, then mentally curses herself as she looks away again.  _No_ , she tells herself.  _This is a friendly gathering. Not mope-over-your-incredibly-hot-roommate-who-also-happens-to-be-one-of-your-BFFs-time._

       She catches Thárros looking at her concernedly, and quickly forces a smile onto her face. 

       "So!" the blonde says, clapping her hands together. "Who wants coffee?"

<><><><><>

** CLISTE **

       Cliste, Thárros, Lucha and Acier all walk down the slippery sidewalks of Starling City, side by side, hands stuffed in their pockets in an attempt to warm them. Cliste is giddy on the high of being together all at once, because it had been a long time since all four of them had gotten together. Classes were crazy on both ends, and the fact that Acier couldn't leave Central City that often put another roadblock between them. 

       It used to be easier a few years ago, when Lucha and Cliste still lived in Central, but when they moved for college it got a little harder for them to contact Acier. Luckily, this was the twenty-first century and they had invented phones. Which made it a lot easier for them to arrange meetings like this. 

       Cliste's left arm is brushing against the buildings that they pass, and Lucha is pressed to her side in order to make enough room for Acier on her side and Thárros on his, walking at the edge of the sidewalk. It's how they've always been, and they've never talked about it. 

       Okay, well, they did once, but Lucha shut that down with a joke about how, since he was the tallest, Thárros' place was meant to protect them from all the water and sludge that comes from passing cars. 

       Even if it's just Cliste and Lucha, it's not very often that they'll walk down to a coffee shop at midnight. The ravenette smiles as Lucha chats at rapid speeds, talking about things even Cliste isn't sure that happened. 

       "Did you see the news?" the ravenette finally deciphers as Lucha slows down to catch her breath. 

       "Uh, what news?" Cliste asks, raising an eyebrow. "In case you've forgotten, our TV's been broken for half the month. We didn't get any news."

       "Newspapers, fucktruck," Lucha singsongs. A passing mother gives her a weird look, and the blonde beams back, turning around and walking backwards into the door of the coffee shop (the Harvest Joint), pushing it open as she does. "You know that billionaire guy, Robert Queen? He and his son went missing, like, five years ago and everyone thought they were dead. But turns out the son isn't that dead, and he got captured by some gang earlier this week and a guy in a green hood saved him." Acier's eyebrows rise.

       "Robert Queen?" he says cautiously. "That's the guy who fired my dad before we moved to Central." Lucha's smile falters, but it quickly brightens up once again as the quartet make a beeline for the counter.

       "So, guys, what are we getting tonight?" the blonde says, words spilling out of her mouth almost faster than Cliste can process them. "Quadruple-shot coffees with lots of whip? An entire cup full of whipped cream? Ooooh, what about just shots of espresso?" 

        "Are you sure you aren't already high on caffeine?" Acier asks dryly. 

        "She had her psych class about twenty minutes before you guys showed up," Cliste says, rolling her eyes. It's fond, though, because no matter how much the four of them act like they're so done with each other, they all care about each other like family. "Apparently, that teacher is nuts and whenever she gets back she's hyper and running on adrenaline. Evidently, she views that class as life-threatning."

        "Wow," Thárros muses. "Man, am I glad that I don't go to college here."

        "Yeah, I kinda wish I didn't move here either," Cliste says, linking arms with Acier and dragging him to the counter. Lucha does the same with Thárros, a wide grin on her face. 

<><><><><>

      Two hours and two coffees apiece, three giggling figures stagger down the sidewalks of Starling City. A fourth is walking at a steady pace, the arm of one of the figures slung around their neck. 

       "Where the fuck are you taking us?" Acier asks, coffee in one hand and the other one gripping Thárros'hand attached to the arm around the redhead's shoulders. 

       "Shhhhh, it's a secret," Lucha giggles. She's linked arms with Cliste, and is dragging the dark-haired girl along. The music major rolls her eyes. 

       "Four months ago, a dickwad stole my purse and Lucha tackled him. Because it's Lucha, she ended up having a chat with him while she sat on his chest and they're friends now. Turns out his name is Roy Harper, and he lives in the Glades, and Lucha's been wanting to introduce you guys since forever." 

       "Besides, I think Thárros will like him," Lucha adds. "He's cuuuuute." The blonde winks, walking a little faster. 

       "Uh, guys?" Acier pipes up as they come up on an abandonded warehouse. Queen Consolidated is written across the front in big red letters that are already fading. "Isn't the Glade like the District 12 of Starling City? As in, it's dangerous?"

       "We'll be fine," Lucha says, waving a hand dismissively. 

       "Hey!" a deep voice yells. "Hands up where I can see them!" Acier straightens all of a sudden, and Thárros steps forwards smoothly, hiding Acier behind his broad build. Cliste and Lucha raise their hands slowly. There's a scraggly-haired man in front of them, waving a shotgun around wildly. He's about 25, maybe 28, with a look in his eye that tells Cliste that he's not afraid to shoot. 

       "Dammit, Luc, you jinxed us," Cliste mutters. The mugger doesn't seem to notice that Acier is hidden behind Thárros, and when his attention (and gun) swings towards Cliste, Acier takes the time to sprint out from behind the shelter of the broader boy's back and circle around behind the mugger. There's a length of broken chainlink fence lying on the ground, and the ravenette makes sure not to watch the redhead try to carefully move the excess bits away from a long length of pipe. 

       "No talking!" the mugger barks. "I want you to give me all your money and anything valuable on you! One at a time, and no silly business!" Nodding to Lucha, Cliste lowers her arms carefully, reaching for her pocket. She tries very, very hard not to think about the gun currently pointed at her head or the fact that Acier is still quietly moving pieces of the fence away from the pole. Carefully, oh-so-carefully, the ravenette slsips her wallet out of her pocket, tossing it over to the mugger. Acier is almost finished clearing the pole. 

       Cliste's hand rise to her neck to undo the clasp of her necklace just as Acier finishes with the pole. She's holding the necklace in one hand when Acier hefts the heavy pole. Fast as lightning, the ravenette dives to the side just as a thud and the crack of a gunshot break the tense silence. 

 


End file.
